


She Sits in Judgment

by Gefionne



Series: Dissonant Verses [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullenlingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seriously the best tag in the world right there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gefionne/pseuds/Gefionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a late night at the Herald's Rest, Cullen and the Inquisitor make their way through the deserted great hall of Skyhold. Sitting down in her chair on the dais, she sits in "judgment" of Cullen as he confesses to shirking his duty to think of a woman, namely her. Naughtiness in said chair ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Sits in Judgment

**Author's Note:**

> The Inquisitor isn't described so that you all can envision her however you like.

The great hall of Skyhold was always deserted in the late hours of the night, the many visiting dignitaries having long since retired to their beds. The copper bowls that usually burned brightly during the daylight hours held only dying embers, leaving most of the hall in shadow.

The Inquisitor’s footsteps echoed as she stumbled up the stairs and through the doors.

“Watch yourself,” said Cullen as he caught her elbow to steady her. He was far from sober himself, but he had not lost as many hands during their game of Wicked Grace as she had. Varric, that damnable dwarf, had all but cleaned everyone else out.

“Thank you very much, Commander,” she said, grinning up at him as she found her footing again.

“You, Inquisitor, are drunk,” he laughed, pulling her against him as they made their way along the carpeted aisle. “Perhaps you should sit down.” Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the tall chair that stood on the dais at the head of the hall.

She chuckled as he set her down. “Am I to sit in judgment of someone?”

He eyed her slyly. “Would you judge me?”

“If you like,” she said. “Though you must tell me your crimes.”

“Well,” he said, scratching his chin. “I am guilty of plying the leader of Inquisition with drink.”

“She needed no help from you,” she said. “She would have gotten good and drunk without you. That is not a crime worthy of judgment.”

“Very well then,” he said. “I confess that I have shirked my duty.”

She cocked a brow. “Have you?”

“Indeed. Instead of rising with the sun to address the needs of the Inquisition’s troops, I have remained abed in the company of another. I have had piles of dispatches before me and yet have not been able to read them for thinking of other things.”

“What other things?” she asked, smirking.

“A woman. She often drives me to distraction.”

“Does she?”

“Oh, very much. She is very beautiful after all. Even when she is covered in mud from a long ride, her armor spattered with blood, she is radiant.”

She made a face at him. When she returned to Skyhold from one of her many journeys in Ferelden or Orlais, she always refused to see him until after she had bathed. He teased her about it, especially when he found his way into her chambers while she was still in the bath. He would take the sponge from her and scrub her back, kneading the muscles in her shoulders. She would do the same for him when they were abed, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. More than once he had lifted her from the water and deposited her straight onto the bed, soaking the coverlet. She had tried to scold him for it, but could never seem to manage it.

“So,” she said as she sat in her chair in the hall, “you find yourself neglecting your responsibilities to think of a woman. That is a grave transgression indeed. Is it her beauty alone that beguiles you?”

“Certainly not,” he replied. “She is bold and capable, her wit as sharp as her blade.”

“And do you desire her?”

“Most desperately, Inquisitor. So much so that I have left my post to seek her out.”

“She returns your affections, then?” she asked, holding back a smile.

“She does, and when she is near, I can barely think of anything else.” He glanced up at her, his eyes flashing darkly. “When she is gone it is far worse. I have put my work aside many a time to imagine that she is with me again, her hands upon me, as I take myself in hand.”

She drew in a breath, feeling a rush of warmth between her legs. Cullen rarely spoke so brazenly. He was a passionate man when they were together, but had never been one to whisper filthy things in her ear when he was inside her. And he had certainly never told her in such explicit terms of what he did in the days when she was gone from Skyhold.

“Sometimes I’ll go to my bedchamber to see to the need,” he said, taking a step toward her. “But at other times, I can barely get there. I have spent myself in my study as I look down at a report written in her hand.”

The thought of him sprawled naked on his bed as he grasped himself, her name on his lips, set her to tingling, but imagining him contorted in pleasure, breeches half off and gasping for breath as he sat at his desk, was enough to drive her mad. She clutched at the arms of the chair.

“What else?” she asked.

“I think of what she might do when she is away from me,” he replied. “I can all but see her lying in her bedroll beneath the sky, her hand moving swiftly as she bites down on the blankets to keep from crying out.”

She swallowed heavily, shifting in the chair in an attempt to keep the game up without revealing how it was affecting her. “Do you really think she does such a thing?”

“I hope so,” he said. “In fact, I have dreamed of what it might be like to watch her take pleasure by her own hand. I want to see her laid bare before me, her hands showing me how she should be touched.”

“Cullen,” she said, raising a hand toward him.

He smiled, taking a step back from her. “You are not yet finished hearing my crimes, Inquisitor.”

“There’s more?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, hanging his head as if in shame. “I have imagined taking her in the sight of others.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I know, Inquisitor, it is a dishonorable thing, but I cannot banish the images from my mind. I would have her on the battlements, looking out over the mountains. I would have her in the war room, scattering the markers upon the map as I laid her back on the table. We would be seen for certain, but I wouldn’t care.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye, gauging her reaction.

A fire was burning in her breast, its heat suffusing her blood with each beat of her heart. Unwilling to be the one to end the game, though, she managed to say, “These are very serious crimes.”

“They are, Inquisitor,” he said. “My duty should come first, but my heart dictates that it must be her instead.”

She raised her brows, looking pointedly at his groin. “Your heart is higher up, Commander.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And that is all the more reason why I must be judged.”

“And you shall be,” she said, smiling wickedly, “for putting aside your obligations is inexcusable.” She wanted to pull him to her, to kiss him fiercely and drag him up to bed, but his confessions had given her an idea. “Before I can serve judgment, Commander, I believe I need to understand the true depth of your crimes.”

“I have told you of them in…detail, Inquisitor."

“You have,” she said, “but I would have you show me.”

“Here?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Yes, Commander.” She pointed to the flagstone at her feet. “Right here.”

He approached her slowly, until he was standing before her. She smirked up at him, waiting. Mischief in his eyes, he sank down onto one knee and then the other. His hands went to her ankles, where the hem of her skirt hung over her stout boots. He slid his fingers beneath it, tracing her calves as he lifted the wool.

She let her head fall against the back of the chair, closing her eyes.

“My love would look at me as I put my hands on her,” Cullen said as he brushed over her knees and up onto her thighs. He traced the place where her linen braies lay as she looked back down at him. Moving his hands up, he reached the ties and loosed them. Slipping his fingers under the linen, he took hold of her hips and pulled her sharply toward the edge of the chair. She felt the slickness between her legs as she lifted herself up to allow him to draw the braies down and away.

“Lift your skirt, Inquisitor,” he said, in his tone a command. She knew she should have scolded him for it, as it didn't fit the game, but she could barely think of how to form the words. Taking fistfuls of her skirt, she lifted it to her waist.

Cullen moved closer to her, parting her legs as he went. His hands resting at the tops of her thighs, he breathed in deeply. “Beautiful,” he said, his breath warm against her. “You are as fine as my love, Inquisitor. I wonder if you will taste as sweet.” Bending his head, he pressed the flat of his tongue to her.

“Holy Maker,” she said, digging her fingers into the arms of the chair. She felt him laugh as much as she heard it.

His fingers trailed down from her hips to the inside of her right thigh. He slid his forefinger against her, slickening it before he eased it inside of her.

Pressing into her toes, she tipped her hips up to bring him deeper. He withdrew his finger, adding a second as he pushed back into her. His tongue returned a moment later, making lazy circles that sent tremors up her spine. She pushed up into his mouth, the muscles of her legs tightening. She watched his golden head between them as his fingers drove into her.

Her breaths were coming faster now as he found the familiar rhythm he knew she needed. She bit down on her lip in an attempt to muffle the sounds she was making.

“My love would cry out,” Cullen said, his lips still against her. “She would not hold back.”

“We’ll be heard,” she said. “Someone will come down here.”

“Let them. I want to hear you.”

She pressed up into him as he put his mouth on her again. Her eyes closing, she groaned. Cullen hummed in reply, his left hand tightening on her hip. As she felt herself rising to him, she fisted her fingers in his hair. The pressure built in her loins and began to spread throughout her body until it was almost too much to bear. His name tumbled from her lips as he brought her to the edge and sent her careening over it. She cried out to him, to the Maker, to anyone who was listening, her voice echoing around the hall.

When it was over, she released Cullen, allowing him to fall back onto his heels. His lips and chin glistened as he grinned up at her.

“Are you satisfied, Inquisitor?”

“Not yet,” she said. Reaching down, she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Her fingers went immediately to his laces. She could feel him hard beneath them. She fumbled with the knots until they released and his breeches slid down an inch or so, exposing the yellow hair that trailed down from his navel to the patch between his legs. Slipping her hand into it, she wrapped her fingers around him. He sighed deeply, his head falling back.

She stroked him once, twice, and then released him, pushing his breeches down until they fell around his ankles. Taking him by the shoulders, she turned him around and pushed him back into the chair. Lifting her skirts again, she sat astride him, pressing herself against his length.

“Would your love take you like this?” she asked as she put her arms around his neck to steady herself.

“I’ve had her atop me many times,” he replied, “but never like this.” He put his hands beneath her skirt, grasping her buttocks to lift her up. She traced the length of him until he was poised to enter her. Slowly, she lowered herself, taking all of him in. The sound he made rumbled deep in his chest.

She set an unhurried pace at first, her knees digging into the seat of the chair as she rode him. Sliding his hand into her hair, he pulled her down to his lips. As her tongue slid into his mouth, she could taste the ale he had drunk, but also herself.

Pulling back, he met her gaze. He said her name. So the game was over at last. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her hips against his with a greater urgency. He clung to her, driving himself deeper.

When he reached his peak, he kissed her hard as he spilled himself inside her. She held him until the last of the tremors had wracked his body. She brushed his hair back from his damp brow, pressing her lips to the skin. She felt a drop of sweat slide down between her breasts. Her muscles would ache in the morning, but she cared little.

Carefully moving away, she picked up her braies and wiped herself clean. Cullen stood as well, drawing his breeches back up and lacing them. Stepping up to him, she traced his jaw with her forefingers.

He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “So, Inquisitor, what is your judgment of me?”

“Come up to bed, Cullen,” she said, shaking her head.

“As the Inquisitor commands.”


End file.
